The Tale of Troy

by Roger Green

  While Ajax was doing great deeds and keeping back the advancing Trojans, the wounded kings were holding a hurried conference beside the ships.

  ‘The only thing to do is to keep them off until night, and then launch our ships quietly and escape!’ urged Agamemnon.

  But Odysseus turned on him fiercely: ‘You should be leading some band of common cowards,’ he cried, ‘not the army of the Greeks! We will fight, every one of us, and perish to a man rather than run away. Be silent, if you have no other advice to give, for it would be shameful if the common soldiers heard the King of Men utter such cowardly words.’

  Agamemnon, shamed once more into courage,

  urged the Greeks to make another charge, and Ajax led them as bravely as ever. Meeting Hector, he smote him with a great stone, so that he was carried away bleeding at the mouth. The tide of battle turned then for a while and the Trojans retreated; but when Hector had recovered he led such a charge, with Paris on one side of him and Aeneas on the other, that the Greeks fled in good earnest.

  ‘To the ships! To the ships!’ cried Hector. ‘Burn the ships so that they cannot get away! Time for spoils when the battle is over! Burn the ships first!’

  They were fighting now on the very sea-shore, and Ajax was aboard his own ship wielding a great spear which was kept for repelling boarders in a sea-fight. Twelve men who tried to set fire to his ship were slain by him; but he could not guard all the ships, and presently Hector himself flung a torch on to the one from which brave Protesilaus had leapt to his death at the beginning of the war.

  But help came unexpectedly. Patroclus, cousin of Achilles, had been tending a wounded friend, but when he saw that the Trojans were trying to burn the ships, he rushed off to Achilles.

  ‘If you will not fight,’ he cried, ‘at least let me lead our Myrmidons to battle! The ships are on fire and most of the Greek kings wounded.’

  Then Achilles was sorry that, in his anger, he had sworn not to fight until his own ships were in danger. But he bade Patroclus wear his own armour so that the Trojans should think that Achilles himself was leading the Myrmidons, and urged him forth before it was too late.

  Meanwhile Ajax fought fiercely on; but he was growing weary and could hardly hold up the great spear any longer. Then Hector attacked him, and cut off the spear's brazen point with a blow of his sword. Ajax drew back, and a moment later his ship was ablaze.

  Just at that critical moment there rose a cry of fear from the Trojans, and they fell back hurriedly shouting:

  ‘Achilles! Achilles the invincible comes against us once more!’

  And there was Patroclus, in the shining armour which all knew so well, and drawn in the chariot by the two magic horses which Poseidon had given to Peleus. Straight to the ships he went, and quenched the flames which were destroying the ship of Protesilaus. Then he turned the chariot and led the whole Greek army in a tremendous charge against the Trojans who fled in disorder across the ditch and over the wide plain towards the city of Troy.

  For a while the flight was stayed by King Sarpedon of Lycia, an ally of the Trojans. He engaged with Patroclus and a fierce combat ensued. Patroclus struck the first blow, but his dart went wide and transfixed the charioteer. Sarpedon retaliated with two darts, one after the other, but in his over-eagerness he missed his aim with both. Then Patroclus launched a spear with all his strength and it pierced Sarpedon so that he fell like a tall tree smitten down on the hillside by the sharp axe of the woodman.

  But as he lay dying he cried out:

  ‘Fight on, brave Lycians! Do not fly because I am down! Rescue my body from the Greeks to give it worthy funeral!’

  Fiercely the fight raged over his dead body, but in the end the Greeks tore the armour from him. Yet Apollo, pitying the fallen champion, sent out Sleep and Death, and they carried away the body, over land and sea to Lycia, there to be laid quietly to rest.

  But Patroclus pursued the flying Trojans right to the very walls of Troy, and strove even to enter, but was pushed back three times. Then Hector came thundering out of the gateway in his chariot, mowing down all who came in his way, and drove straight at Patroclus – who flung a heavy stone at him, missed his mark, but killed the charioteer. For a few minutes the two heroes struggled over the body of the slain man, and then the surge of battle parted them.

  The sun was sinking when they met again, and Patroclus had lost his helmet in the thick of the battle, and was weary and wounded. Nevertheless he charged at Hector, who met him in full career and transfixed his body with a spear. Then Patroclus fell to the ground, and as Hector stood over him with drawn sword, he gasped:

  ‘Do not boast greatly at my slaying, noble Hector – for stern fate decreed it – fate that no man may escape. And know that you yourself have not long to live, for already Death is on his way from the realm of Hades: and by the hand of great Achilles shall you fall!’

  Then Patroclus died, and his charioteer sped like the wind out of the rush of battle, drawn by the two magic horses, and brought the news to Achilles as he sat alone in his tent.

  When Achilles heard that his beloved cousin was dead, he covered his face with his hands and wept. By and by, as he still sat there alone, his mother the sea-nymph Thetis came to him, and for a long time she strove in vain to comfort him.

  ‘Let me die, let me die!’ groaned Achilles, ‘since I might not save my friend from death, and through my foolish anger he is dead… All I ask is to slay Hector who has done this thing!’

  Then, unarmed as he was, Achilles rushed out of his tent and on to the wall of the camp. There he stood, tall and godlike, with the red sunset blazing behind him. Down on the plain he saw the battle raging fiercely. He saw that Hector had stripped the armour from dead Patroclus – the golden armour which the Immortals had given to Peleus – and that the Greeks, still led by Ajax, were fighting to bring the poor, maimed, naked body of the dead hero back into their camp.

  Achilles saw, and he uttered his mighty voice in a cry which rang like a clarion call over the field of battle: and the thunder rolling on Mount Ida seemed to be but the echo of that cry. Thrice Achilles uttered that terrible cry, and the Trojans drew back in fear, while the very horses snorted and shied away.

  Then the Greeks took up the body of Patroclus and bore it back to the camp; and as they did so, night fell.

  Once more the Trojans camped on the open plain, and Hector would not return to Troy, though his friends warned him that Achilles would never rest now until one or the other lay dead.

  ‘Never will I flee!’ he cried. ‘What though the great Achilles come against me? One of us must fall – but Ares the Immortal Warlord may guide my spear so that Achilles is the one who dies!’

  But Achilles rested in his tent, grieving over the loss of Patroclus; and presently, by the will of the Immortals, sweet sleep came to him and he was at rest. There was no rest in the forge of Hephaestus the Immortal Smith that night, however: for at the prayer of Thetis he was forging new armour for Achilles.

  In the grey morning Thetis, the sea-nymph, came down from high Olympus bearing the wonderful armour for her son – a five-fold shield tooled and engraved all over with scenes and devices; a corselet brighter than a flame of fire, a massive helmet with its golden crest, and greaves of pliant tin.

  Achilles beheld these wondrous things, and his eyes glittered with delight. Swiftly he put them on and took a great spear in his hand. Then he went down by the shore, crying his terrible cry, and all the Grecian warriors sprang up from sleep, buckled on their armour and made ready for battle.

  But first Odysseus came to Achilles and persuaded him to visit the wounded Agamemnon, to receive his apologies and the gifts which were to be made him.

  Peace restored between the kings, Achilles went forth to war in his brazen chariot drawn by the two magic horses. And as he was tightening the harness on their backs, one of them spoke to him in a human voice, saying: ‘We shall bear you swiftly and speedily: but your day of death is near – death that will come
to you in battle.’

  ‘Well do I know it,’ answered Achilles, ‘but I shall not cease from fighting until that day, unless I may lay proud Troy in the dust.’

  All day long the battle raged, and the Trojans fled before the wrath of Achilles, leaving many, many dead upon the field. Across the River Scamander he drove them, and did not pause, though the River rose against him in an angry flood. Over the plain fled the Trojans, with Achilles hot at their heels, and they did not pause from flight until they were safe behind the walls of Troy.

  But Hector alone stood at the Scaean Gate of the city, waiting for Achilles who came rushing on, shining like a shooting-star in his golden armour.

  ‘Come within the gate!’ cried King Priam. ‘This terrible man has slain many of my sons, and if he slays you also, who shall I have to help me in my old age?’

  But Hector would not listen, and he went forth to meet Achilles, leaving Priam and Hecuba on the towers over the gate with Andromache and the other Trojan wives. They met near where a spring still bubbles out of the plain by a little grove of trees, and as they fought they moved out of sight round a corner of the city walls.

  Achilles hurled his spear and missed Hector, who in his turn hurled his own weapon which failed to pierce the wondrous shield. Then Hector drew his sword, but Achilles had a second spear and caught him on the point of it as he rushed against him.

  Hector fell in the dust, and Achilles cried: ‘Slayer of Patroclus, dogs and birds shall tear your flesh as you lie unburied!’

  ‘Do not do this great shame!’ gasped Hector. ‘Take the store of gold my father will offer you, and let my body be burnt in Troy!’

  ‘Hound, even if Priam offered me your weight in gold, I doubt if it would save your corpse from the dogs!’ shouted vengeful Achilles.

  ‘Remember me in the day when Paris slays you in the Scaean Gate!’ said Hector quietly, and with that he fell back dead.

  Then Achilles pierced his feet, and having stripped him, tied him to the back of his chariot and drove in triumph round and round the walls of Troy, while Andromache shrieked and fainted, and Priam and all the Trojans wept.

  Next day Achilles burned the body of Patroclus on a great funeral pyre, and sacrificed twelve prisoners of war to his ghost – a deed of shame which caused great Zeus to turn away his eyes. And he caused games to be held in honour of Patroclus, and all the Greek kings took part in them.

  And each day he trailed the body of Hector round the walls of Troy, until the Immortals grew angry, and sent Thetis to tell her son that he must render up the body for an honourable funeral. For without the rites of fire, the Greeks and Trojans believed that no spirit could depart into the Kingdom of Hades through which all must pass, even if they were fated to dwell in the Isles of the Blest and the sweet Elysian Fields.

  That night King Priam came through the ranks of the Greeks to the very tent of Achilles, and kneeling at his feet he kissed the terrible hands which had slain his son and wept silently.

  Then Achilles remembered his old father Peleus, waiting alone in distant Hellas, and he wept also and raised the sorrowing king with gentle words, gave him food and drink and sent him back to Troy with all honour.

  In the morning he bade Briseis and the other hand-maidens wash the body of Hector and clothe it in fair linen.

  Then he set up a great pair of scales under the walls of Troy and placed the body in one pan: for he had sworn only to give up the corpse of Hector in exchange for his weight in gold.

  But when Priam had stripped his treasury to make up the weight, the scale still trembled and would not turn, till Hector's lovely sister Polyxena, youngest of Priam's children, leant over the wall and cast her golden bracelets into the scale, then Hector's body rose as the weight of gold sank to the ground.

  So they carried Hector into Troy, amidst great lamentations and, bending over him, fair Helen cried:

  ‘Hector, of all my brethren in Troy the dearest, since Paris brought me here – but would that I had died ere ever that day dawned. Hector, in all the years since then I have never heard from you a word that was bitter or unkind. Others spoke cruelly to me, for whom this bitter war is fought: but ever you would restrain them with gentle, courteous words. Ah woe is me! Woe is me! Now there is none like you left in all Troy, and my one true friend is dead.’

  CHAPTER 8

  NEOPTOLEMUS AND PHILOCTETES

  *

  Yet is there hope; slow hope yet comfort sure,

  I had forgot it in my wrath and pain.

  Is there no oracle? Troy cannot fall.

  I guard thine arrows, Heracles divine,

  And Troy falls not without them.

  LORD DE TABLEY

  Philoctetes

  8

  The Trojan War did not end with the death of Hector, but now the Trojans ventured out into the open less and less often, while the Greeks besieged them even more closely than before.

  Yet, though all the lesser cities lay waste far and wide, the Trojans still had allies: and the first of these that came to their aid after the death of Hector was the beautiful Penthesilia, Queen of the Amazons.

  The Trojans sallied out to battle when they saw her coming, but Achilles drove them back again, and turned against Penthesilia. Their meeting was sharp and brief, for Achilles pierced her with his spear and she fell dying to the ground. As he bent over her to strip off her armour, he realized for the first time that he had slain a lovely girl. Then his heart was stirred with regret at the thought that he might instead have captured her and carried her away to be his slave-wife or even his queen, if Deidamia were dead; and he mourned his unlucky stroke with tears, for indeed the lovely Amazon was divinely fair and like one of the Immortals, since her father was Ares the Warlord.

  Then Thersites, the ugliest and vilest of the Greeks, jeered at Achilles:

  ‘Yah, sorry-souled Achilles! It only needs a pretty face to turn you from a warrior into a womanish traitor worse than Paris himself! As for this dirty Amazon slut,’ she's only good for dogs' meat!’ And with that he began jabbing at the corpse with his spear.

  Then Achilles lost his temper completely: ‘Take that, shameless wretch!’ he shouted. ‘No man shall revile Achilles and go unpunished!’ and he struck Thersites such a blow on the side of his head that his teeth were scattered on the ground and he fell upon his face and died.

  Having slain a Greek of noble birth (for Thersites, for all his vileness, was cousin to Diomedes), Achilles needed to be cleared of blood-guilt, and sailed away to the island of Lesbos for this purpose.

  While he was away, Priam's last ally arrived with an army. This was Prince Memnon of Ethiopia, son of Eos the Dawn-Titan and her mortal husband King Tithonus. The story of these two was very sad: for Eos when she fell in love with Tithonus, the most handsome of mortal men, prayed Zeus to grant that he should never die. Zeus granted this prayer without a moment's thought, and all seemed well. But Eos realized too late that, though Tithonus could never die, he could still grow old. For in time he grew so ancient that he was no more than a little shrunken, chirping creature like a large grasshopper, who could not see nor hear, but merely sit gibbering and chattering to himself, locked far away from sight in a room in the golden palace of Immortal Eos.

  Strong Memnon, however, came to Troy with his swarthy followers, and once more the Trojans ventured out of their city, and together they chased the Greeks for the last time down almost to their ships. Night fell just as Ajax was preparing to go out against Memnon; and in the morning Achilles returned from Lesbos and turned the tide of battle, slaying the Ethiopian King and scattering his forces. Then he chased the Trojans helter-skelter across the plain and into Troy, mocking them and boasting that even the Immortals would not be able to withstand him, if he came in arms against them.

  But as he stood there in the Scaean Gate, Paris took an arrow from his quiver, set it to his bow, took careful aim and loosed. Away sped the shaft, guided by Apollo who was angry at Achilles's words. It struck him in the
heel – the one vulnerable part of his whole body - the heel by which Thetis had held him when she dipped him as a baby in the River Styx.

  The arrow was poisoned, and presently Achilles fell to the ground with a great cry, and died.

  For a little while friend and foe stood staring, and aghast, for neither could believe that so great a hero could really be dead. Then, with a shout of triumph, the Trojans rushed forward to spoil the body: but mighty Ajax seized it, swung it over his shoulders and raced for the ships with it, never heeding the shower of darts which were sped after him.

  Mad with rage and grief the Greeks, headed by Odysseus; drove the Trojans back into Troy, and invested the city more mercilessly than ever. Next day they burnt the body of Achilles on a great pyre, and buried his ashes with those of Patroclus on the sea-coast and heaped a great mound over them which is there to this day. But Thetis snatched away the soul of her son and took him to the Isles of the Blest reserved for the spirits of the Heroes.

  Once again, the Greeks did honour to a dead hero by holding games; and at the close of them Agamemnon rashly said that he would give the armour of Achilles to the bravest of the Greeks.

  At once quarrels arose as to who could claim that honour. Agamemnon favoured his brother Menelaus, but the general vote placed the contest between Ajax and Odysseus. No one dared to decide which of the two had the best claim, and the argument grew more and more heated.

  At last wise old Nestor exclaimed: ‘Friends, we cannot settle this question ourselves – but why should not the Trojans decide it for us? Send spies quickly to Troy: let them listen under the walls and tell us what the Trojans think of our two great heroes – who to me seem absolutely equal in courage!’